


The Smell of Earth After Rain

by dairygrill



Category: Derry Girls (TV)
Genre: Denial of Feelings, F/F, Height difference, Michelle is bi, Slow Burn, erin and clare are really close, probably?, they might all be a bit gay tbh
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-14
Updated: 2020-07-16
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:01:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25268773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dairygrill/pseuds/dairygrill
Summary: Clare Devlin lived in an almost perpetual state of mental tossing and turning. There were days when all she wanted was to run away. To go into the woods and watch as day and night dissolved into one. If she lived outside of humanity, Clare thought, she would be both the only thing in existence and would never have existed at all. It would be like dreaming.But sometimes Clare didn’t want to run away. Sometimes she loved the people she knew far too dearly, and instead prayed that time would stop altogether. That way, they could all carry on at whatever pace they wished, without their own private Forevers tutting impatiently. They could hop from afternoon to morning to evening, never bound or committed to moving in order.Yes, Clare thought. Things would be so much easier without time keeping track.
Relationships: Clare Devlin/Erin Quinn, Clare Devlin/Michelle Mallon
Comments: 2
Kudos: 18





	1. The Secret Life of a Gay Teenager

Clare Devlin lived in an almost perpetual state of mental tossing and turning. There were days when all she wanted was to run away. To go into the woods and watch as day and night dissolved into one. If she lived outside of humanity, Clare thought, she would be both the only thing in existence and would never have existed at all. It would be like dreaming.

But sometimes Clare didn’t want to run away. Sometimes she loved the people she knew far too dearly, and instead prayed that time would stop altogether. That way, they could all carry on at whatever pace they wished, without their own private Forevers tutting impatiently. They could hop from afternoon to morning to evening, never bound or committed to moving in order.

_Yes,_ Clare thought. _Things would be so much easier without time keeping track._

It was barely six in the morning, but Clare was awake. Moreover, she’d left the house and resigned herself to sitting on the hill to watch the sunrise. The sky, cut open by the steadily climbing sun, burnt with pinks and purples, and Clare pulled her blazer tighter around her shoulders. Her knee bounced up and down, agitated, and she chewed absently at a nail.

The article would be released today and, with it, her deepest secret. Somewhere in the near future, the sun would be finished crawling its lazy way over the city walls, washing over the hill and into the houses, bringing life in its wake, and then Clare would have to watch as people gossiped and mocked and laughed. She had, of course, gone over several plans to stop Erin handing out the copies of The Habit, but all of them had involved her coming out, and the very idea sent a wave of nausea rushing through her veins until she had to sit down and close her eyes. Dejectedly, then, Clare had accepted that she would simply have to lie low; wait until the excitement, which the story would no doubt spark, died down and hope and pray that no one recognised her tone of voice or writing style.

_Why did I write the stupid thing?_ Clare groaned. She had been so panicked, so desperate to express the thing she’d been hiding for so long, but all she’d achieved was the throwing of a hammer into the works. Her mind flitted over the images of her friends and she wondered what each of them would think if they were to find out.

Erin was technically trying to fight for Clare already, whether she knew it or not. Besides, she was her closest friend. They’d known each other for as long as either of them could remember, and had, more than once, been mistaken for twins by strangers who saw it as the only explanation for the girls’ overwhelming familiarity and fondness. Clare reckoned they were connected on a molecular level, completely and utterly tied to one another.

But what about Michelle? Clare’s stomach lurched uncomfortably. Michelle had been a given in her life for almost as long as Erin. She had never considered the possibility of one day not knowing Michelle, but now the idea rushed through her and she shivered. Didn’t Michelle mock James for being gay?

And then there was James himself. Clare had considered, several times, coming out to James in the hopes that he might be just like her, but had thought better of it. She shrugged off any thoughts of what Orla might say, as she supposed Orla didn’t know what the word lesbian meant.

Clare checked her watch. She should be meeting Erin and Orla in a little while, and so she stood up and headed towards the Quinns’ road, slinging her rucksack over her shoulders. The streets were quiet, but a few lone cars and lit-up kitchen windows welcomed in the new day. Maureen Malarkey strolled down towards the River Foyle with Toto trotting at her heels. Clare passed Hair and Flair, and then stopped at the corner, her disquieted feet shuffling against the concrete. She watched as Erin and Orla came into view, Erin empty-handed but Orla piled high with newspapers.

“It’s the big day!” Erin shouted, gesturing towards the papers. Clare crossed her arms and looked away, trying her utmost to look disinterested with Erin’s endeavour into journalism.

“I see you’re still protesting the article then, Clare,” Erin huffed as she reached the spot where Clare stood. Clare shrugged and grabbed onto the straps of her rucksack. She was saved having to answer by Orla, who gestured her head towards a slug on the pavement, the pile of newspapers wobbling alarmingly off-balance. Clare’s heart leapt as she imagined them being swept into the road and destroyed by oncoming traffic, but there was no such luck.

“Look This snail’s lost its shell!”

“That’s a slug, Orla,” Erin sighed.

Clare stayed quiet while the others bickered about whether snails and slugs were one and the same, focusing instead on the drum of her feet on the floor. She counted steps, trying to think of anything other than the pile of newspapers beside her.

_One, two, three — maybe people won’t actually be interested. Six, seven — Sister Michael might round the articles up before anyone has a chance to read it. Ten, eleven — I could always move to Donegal. Fourteen, fifteen, sixteen—_

“Alright, dickheads?” Michelle bounded up to them, James shuffling behind her. Erin stared at them, her eyebrows knitting together.

“Where are the articles?” Michelle whipped her head round to look at James.

“Well, dicko?”

“I thought you had them!” James blurted, eyes wide. Erin was fuming and, as they got on the bus, ranted to the group about how this was her big break, and that now it was going to be ruined by “a severe lack of commitment from the rest of the team”.

“I’m sorry, Erin,” James said, tugging at his blazer sleeve, "At least we’ve still got all of Orla’s. It’ll be fine.” Erin’s face flushed pink.

“No, it will not be ‘fine’ James. This was gonna be the biggest story The Habit has ever published but now there aren’t enough copies to go round.”

“Oooh, d’you know what?” Michelle piped up, suddenly, “I think I left them in my locker yesterday.” Erin turned in her seat to stare Michelle down.

“You’d better not be joking, Michelle. My entire career rests on—“

“I’m not! Honest to God, I’d forgotten about it until now.”

Erin rolled her eyes but seemed somewhat sedated, unlike Clare whose leg was back to bouncing up and down. Michelle, who was sat next to her, tapped Clare on the shoulder.

“Are you alright?”

Clare nodded, staring down at her knees, resenting the tears that threatened to spill down her cheeks. She just wished this day would be over with already.

“Right, it’s just you don’t seem alright,” Michelle muttered. There was a pause in which Michelle seemed to struggle with herself, and then she reached out and placed a hand on Clare’s arm. Her eyes flicked towards the movement, unaccustomed to much physical contact, least of all from Michelle. For a moment she was frozen with shock, but then she jolted away, crossing her legs and gazing determinedly out of the window.

“I said I’m fine,” she snapped. Michelle sucked her teeth with a tutting, clicking noise beside her.

“Fine,” she said, her voice taut and harsh, “Forget I asked.”

By the time the bus pulled into the pavement though, Michelle was back to her usual self, punching James in the shoulder as she hopped in front of him off the bus.

“Read all about the wee dyke.”

“We will not be censored!”

“Lesbians really do exist!” 

“I support gays, even though I myself am not actually gay!”

Clare kept her head down as she walked past, refusing to even take the article Orla thrust at her. She only glanced around to watch as, one by one, newspapers were swept out into the crowd and out of her control.

“Come on, Clare,” Erin said, following at Clare’s heels.

“I don’t wanna get involved, I’m sorry.” Clare felt very much like putting her hands over her ears to block out the buzz of the crowd.

As she stumbled briskly towards the main entrance, she heard Erin shouting at her back.

“Coward!”

She ducked her head down, and kept walking.


	2. The Rain

Clare’s determined footfall rattled down the corridor. One girl shouted after Clare as she knocked into her shoulder on her way past, but Clare kept her head forward, ignoring the groups of girls whispering on either side. They wanted to know who it was, but Clare had realised, if anyone was going to find out, she wanted Erin to know first.

Reaching the door, Clare slowed to a stop. Half of her wanted to turn and run, while the other half was trying to shove her through the door. A whirl of nerves eddied round her gut and she clenched her fists, rubbing her fingers against her palms.

Once she’d done this, there was no going back. What if she was kicked out of the group? What if she lost her lifelong friend? But Erin was stalwart; she’d had stood, always, at Clare’s side and, even as she marched ambitiously ahead, always reached her hand back to drag Clare along with her. She’d fought for the wee lesbian thus far. Surely the revelation that it was her own best friend would only grant the cause a more important place in Erin’s heart?

With a final burst of energy, Clare twisted the door handle and rushed into the room, before she could change her mind.

Erin was sat behind her desk, but looked up on Clare’s entrance.

“Hi.”  
“Oh look, it’s crawled out from under its rock, has it?” Erin tilted her head slightly to the side, transferring a pile of papers to the other side of the desk. “You should be ashamed of yourself.”  
“I know, I’m sorry. It all just made me a bit nervous—“ Before Clare could rush on with the rest of her sentence, Erin cut her off.  
“Everything makes you nervous Clare you’re a walking cack attack.”

“I can’t help that, it’s the way God made me—“  
“Michelle’s running round saying it’s her. That she wrote the story. That she’s the wee lesbian,” Erin tutted, “As if, like. There’d be more chance of it being you.”

This was it.

“It _is_ me,” Clare blurted.

Erin, unfazed, continued on.

“No, I mean like, I’d be less surprised if it was you.”

“It is—“  
“No, it’s not, but if it was—“

“Erin!” Clare was dumbfounded. Was she not hearing her properly? “It’s _me_! I’m the wee…” She almost choked on the word, but forced it out “lesbian.”

It swept over Clare all at once, like the rising of the shoreline. She’d said it. She’d actually said the words out loud. She had to suppress a laugh of relief.

“Aye, so you are, Clare.”  
“I’m not joking!”  
Erin stopped dead, her face falling.

“You’re… you’re a lesbian?” She half-whispered the word, as though it didn’t quite fit in her throat.

“I’ve never been brave enough to say it out loud before but I think that’s why I wrote the story, and then it all got too real, I got too scared but now,” Clare rambled, still buzzing from the rush of relief, “well, you’ve made me realise it’s all okay!”  
A smile chased its way across Clare’s face, starting at her eyes and spreading, like the flickers of starlight, over her cheeks before tugging at the corners of her mouth. The idea that smiles belong solely to the lips is a huge misconception. Like fear and rage, happiness is a visceral, jolting thing that seizes as much of the body as possible, twisting and tangling. It is guttural and animal and screams its way through the entirety of you. 

And then the moment shattered, entirely and all-at-once.

“Don’t blame me.”

Clare’s heart just about stop its rhythmic thumping, lodging itself at the pit of her throat. When she replied, her voice was the deadest thing.

“What?”

“You fancy girls?”

“Well, that’s sort of an entry-level requirement, Erin,” she was half-joking, but she could feel her stomach tightening in knots of rage.

“I think I’m gonna boke.”  
“D’you mind, I’m tryna come out here!”

“Well, don’t! Don’t come out, go back in.”

“I don’t wanna go back in.”

Clare knew Erin like the back of her hand, whatever that phrase really meant. In fact, she knew the back of Erin’s hand like she knew the back of her own. She saw the exact moment Erin started to regret her words flicker through her eyes. She felt as Erin tried to scramble her way back. But it was too late — the damage was done. And, besides, Erin was fighting fire with fire.

“Well, I’m sorry, Clare, “ she tried, “but I’m just not interested in you, not like that."  
“I’m not interested in you like that, look at the state of you.”

“Oh, come off it.”

“Your arrogance is staggering, Erin.”

Erin spluttered, “Well, d’you know what else is staggering, your gayness!”

The silence rang through the room like a dead weight. Clare took a deep breath in, trying to rid the feeling that her heart was being wrung like a flannel. When she spoke, her voice came out brittle and distant.

“I really thought you’d understand.”

Erin’s face was grey and ashy as Clare turned on her heels and stormed out of the room. She was barely out of the door when she felt a tear streak down her face.

She ran to the nearest bathrooms, locked herself in the end stall, and wretched out a cacophony of sobs. She buried her face into her hand as she sat on the toilet seat, letting the anger and sadness burst out of her in violent, convulsive gasps.

After a couple of moments, a thought came to her. She reached her hands round behind her neck and undid the clasp of her necklace. She pooled the chain into her hands, and looked closely at the crooked half-heart in her hand. It was the left-side of a love heart, with just the word “best” engraved onto it in a silvery swirl. Erin wore the other half, and neither had taken them off in twelve years.

Clare shoved it into her pocket and choked down another sob, wiping her eyes. It felt like the end of something wonderful, and she didn’t know if she could face it.

As the bell rang for the next lesson, Clare stumbled red eyed out of the bathroom. She passed Michelle and Orla in the corridor, but didn’t stop or turn around when they called her name.

As she walked into the French classroom, she caught eyes with Erin in the far corner. She sat alone at he desk, an empty chair beside her, and had matching patches of red around her eyes. She smiled, hopefully, gesturing to the seat next to her, but Clare turned her nose away, walking to sit next to Caoimhe Callaghan. She tried very hard to breathe only through her mouth, all too aware of Caoimhe’s unpleasant smell.

Unable to focus on the lesson, Clare would glance every few minutes to where Erin sat alone, looking just as dejected as Clare felt. A pang of guilt rang through her body, and then one of grief, and she would turn away again, counting the minutes until she could run back home and collapse into bed.


End file.
